


The Better Men

by theisleisfullofnoises



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Egypt, Ancient Rome, BAMF Yami, Ensemble Cast, Enslaved!Yami, M/M, Pirate King Bakura and Merchant Prince Ryou, Slow Build, Yuugi can be Badass too, family matters, hidden identities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisleisfullofnoises/pseuds/theisleisfullofnoises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lost prince, a reluctant hero, an imperiled kingdom. A tale of treachery, magic, love and brotherhood.</p><p>Seto Kaiba sure as hell did not sign up for this.</p><p>For those curious, I apologize for the lack of progress. This story got a major face-lift, and so I am now rewriting it. It is, however, STILL ALIVE. I'll post when I've made more progress with the whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Men

**Author's Note:**

> Please know, this story is not meant to represent or replace any actual historical events. I'm living up the artistic freedom.
> 
> Constructive Critique is appreciated! Even if it's just "Wow, you need a better summary" or "Dude, starts too slow."  
> ...Though greater specificity is nice.

_Egypt is not a country we live in but a country that lives within us._  
 _Pope Shenouda III_

**The Site of the Battle of Skete, near Wadi Natrum, 75 miles southeast of Alexandria**

The sun had sunk low towards evening when Seto Kaiba, Commander of the 9th Legion and adopted heir to General Gozaburo Kaiba of the glorious Empire of Rome, finally reached the heart of the Roman encampment.

A celebratory cheer hovered in the air among the tents, mingling with the scent of cooking stewpots and the sound of drunken laughter. A pair of guards stood and saluted hurriedly as he passed, scattering cards and mugs of _posca_ , the strong, sour wine the legionaries seemed to favor.

It was the nature of soldiers to revel in victory, no matter the how brief or petty. Seto considered reprimanding them for sheer lack of sense, being foolish enough to get caught by a commander, but tonight, he couldn’t summon the interest. They would have to learn the consequences of inattention another day.

Seto himself was in no mood to join in the revelry. Seto Kaiba was not a man to appreciate a mystery. Unfortunately, that, he thought with a scowl, was exactly what he had found. An afternoon of sun-scorched corpses and the mocking gabble of the vultures had left him with nothing but more questions and a new distaste for the desert sun.

He grimaced in recollection. No, roasting meat and raucous company held no appeal for him tonight. He desired nothing more than a bath and a soft bed.

He was walking past a circle of men playing _tesserae_ when a voice called out.

“Well, well, look who’s still in armor. Are you just getting back, Seto?”

Seto kept walking, unashamedly ignoring the speaker, but the man extracted himself with from the circle to block the way.

Zigfried Von Schroeder, Second Commander of the 3rd Legion and son of an old family, had been groomed for leadership from a young age. He had originally been amused at the General’s mongrel son playing soldier. When Seto was picked before him for Legion Commander, he had ceased to be amused, declaring himself Seto’s bitter rival.

Seto wished he’d fucking grow up already.

“Too much work is bad for your health, Seto. Come join us for a game.”

“Move, Schroeder,” the young commander said flatly.

“Wow.” Another player leaned back from the dice game. “Someone’s in a mood tonight.” It took Seto a moment to place the voice. Duke Devlin. First Lieutenant of the 3rd Legion, Devlin was his own rising star and favored by Emperor himself- or so he claimed. Seto actually didn’t know what his problem was. Maybe he was just a dick.

“Dear Seto is just a little disappointed, Devlin.” Schroeder smiled. It wasn’t kind. “I understand the Egyptian general had given him a good thrashing back at the Battle of Pelusium and he was thrilled for a rematch.”

“Right,” Devlin said thoughtfully, eyes sly. “I heard that he was supposed to be quite brilliant- good enough, in fact, to beat our Seto and pull the General himself out of Rome. I’ll admit I was intrigued. After all, anyone good enough to ruffle golden boy Kaiba must be quite the challenge.”

“Ah, well.” Schroeder sighed dramatically. “It seems we will never know.” He gave a sympathetic look to Seto. “But I’m sure he was much more interesting at Pelusium, Kaiba. Maybe you can try again later? If he survived, of course.”

Seto’s glare was cool and disinterested. “Spare me your drivel, Schroeder, Devlin. If I cared for your opinion, I’d ask for it- but wait, I _don’t_. Maybe if you did more that sit on your ass behind the rear lines, you’d have something useful to say.”

Schroeder turned an unattractive shade, “Why you howling mongrel dog-“.

Devlin was up and grabbing the man by the shoulder just as Nezbitt and Leitcher, Commanders of the 3rd and 8th Legions, strolled into sight.

Seto scowled. Irritating as Schroeder and his cheerleader were, yapping pups were better than the General’s loyal hounds.

Commander Nezbitt raised an eyebrow at their tableau. “Evening, gentlemen. Do you have a problem with young Kaiba, here?”

Schroeder jerked his shoulder free, cool and composed once more. “Of course not, sir,” he said to his superior. “Just got a little carried away in our game.” He caught Seto’s eye, and suddenly smirked. “I think the next move will be more entertaining, however.” Instincts prickling, Seto’s eyes narrowed.

“Good, good.” Nezbitt nodded dismissively. “Ah, Seto, we heard you were down by the fields this afternoon.”

Schroeder looked sour at the easy write off, but Seto tensed, immediately suspicious. The Big Five never treated him as anything more than a particularly talented trained dog unless they wanted something. “I was.”

Leitcher was glaring and trying to catch Nezbitt’s eye. Nezbitt ignored him. “You didn't happen to see anything interesting down there, did you?”

That was… intriguing. “Interesting how?”

“Oh, you know, something out of place or important looking.”

Even if he had, he would never have told a conniving idiot like Nezbitt. “No, nothing. I thought there was something odd about the battle, but I didn’t find any clues.”

“Right. Of course.” Nezbitt nodded easily and turned away, but Seto noticed a film of sweat on his brow. Nezbitt was nervous. There was only one person in camp who could do that.

“By the way, the General would like to see you tonight,” Leitcher put in, now that he’d finished glaring at Nezbitt.

Seto tensed, then deliberately relaxed. “I see. Fine.”

Leitcher waited, probably expected Seto to grovel or something stupid like that, but Seto just stared back evenly. Finally, with a disgusted sound, he left.

“General Daddy Dearest checking up on you?” Schroeder’s voice was musical and full of spite. “Are you going to cry because he broke your new toy?”

Seto’s lips curled in a smile so mirthless, Devlin took an startled step back. “You, Zeigfried von Schroeder, are a complete fool.”

With the air of a man off to do battle, Seto Kaiba went to see his step-father.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“General Kaiba is in conference, Lord Seto. He will see you when finished.”

Seto glared uselessly at the blank-faced servant. So Gozaburo was going to make wait. Figured.

Once, when he was younger and stupider, the insult and inconvenience would have been enough snare his temper. Now he scorned the clumsily obvious power play for what it was and turned away. He tucked the anger way, an indulgence saved for a special occasion.

This tent was a kind of meeting and planning hall for the General, the centerpiece given to a large table, covered in maps and battle plans.

The armies still stood in same positions as this morning, stalwart phantoms of carved ebony and ivory each preparing for a battle long since decided. He frowned down at the table, reaching out to finger an ivory jackal.

They had outnumbered the Egyptians by several thousand infantry, but recent experience had taught Seto how negligible that difference could be against the mysterious General Prince. Gozaburo hadn’t expressed any concern when ordering the attack, however. He’d even let the Prince choose the location, giving him plenty of time to set up in a defensible kill pocket as they march along.

It broke all the rules of war. They should have lost, or at least suffered sever casualties.

But they hadn’t. They’d won. _Easily_.

He eyed a shallow valley inscribed on the map. He’d walked that stretch, picking his way over the piled bodies. They’d fought viciously there, desperately, to fall where they stood, down to the last man. A final stand.

 _Why not yield?_ It made no sense. Men only fought like that if they had a reason. War captives of the Legion were sold to servitude, but at least some would inevitably consider that superior to death. Unless…

_There was something they were trying to protect._

He had scoured the area carefully after the army had cleared, weathering the scorching heat and the retching smell. He’d found no trace of treasure, however, and heard no gossip of captured trophies or prisoners of war. And in the end, that was only the least of his frustrations.

 _Why were you_ there _?_

The Egyptian commander was no fool. He’d chosen his battleground well- a defensible valley with a bottleneck approach and an easy lane of retreat. The nearby hills were rocky and difficult to traverse, making it nigh impossible to circle around for a flanking attack. With the skill of the Egyptian archers launching volleys into the fore-field, the legionaries would have to charge through a death trap just to reach the enemy. It was a constellation of ideal circumstances for fighting off a larger, heavier-hitting force. If they’d held it, the Roman army would have ground them selves to dust against them. From the start of the battle, Seto had been watching it happen, teeth gritted in impotent fury.

Then, suddenly, the Egyptians’ lines had collapsed.

Seto didn't see the cause. One minute, the Romans had been facing an immovable force of shields and spears. Then next, their enemy was retreating in panicked chaos, the legionaries in bloodthirsty pursuit.

And yet the strangest part by far was that the Egyptian army did not fall back to the natural escape route so clearly chosen by the commander. Instead, the Egyptian army had rolled to the left, backing into a dead-end valley to make their doomed stand.

It made no sense and, even after walking the battlefield back and forth, Seto still had no answers.

There was an agitated spike in voices in the tent, drawing Seto’s attention away from the map and back to the moment at hand.

“—unable to say with certainty, my lord. Many of the bodies were mangled in the final press and-“

“I don’t care about your excuses. Do the search again, question the survivors. Be more _thorough_. Don’t let me see you again until you have answers.”

The man bowed hastily, brushing past Seto in his rush to exit.

Seto strolled into the main tent, lifting a cool eyebrow. “Lost something?”

“Hmph. Nothing of interest to you, boy.” Gozaburo sat, and survey the man he claimed as ‘son.’ Seto stared back, unbowed.

General Gozaburo Kaiba was an imposing man. Though not as tall as Seto himself, he had the build of an giant and carried himself like it. His dark, grey-streaked hair was kept clean and well-groomed, and lent him a dignified, patriarchal look. His chair was large and throne-like— he probably thought it made him look like a king. It did, too, in way, distant and cruel as he looked down on the world.

He stared down a long moment, his face as cold and calculating as ever. “I’m sending you back to Alexandria.”

Seto forgot himself enough to blink, startled. A flicker of gaze betrayed Gozaburo’s notice. Gritting his teeth, Seto asked, “Why now?”

“Oh?” Blank brown eyes watched with predator’s interest. “Are you objecting?”

Seto remained carefully impassive, recognizing the trap.

“Perhaps you like a more exotic location. I hear Briton is lovely this time of year.”

Gozaburo waited a moment to see if Seto would squirm. He didn’t, but they had been doing this dance far too long him to flinch so easily.

Gozaburo’s lips twitched down, the only sign of his disappointment, but instead of pushing, Gozaburo let it drop.

“Leave as soon as possible. You make take with you an entourage, but the 9th Legion will stay with me.”

“Am I being demoted?” He hadn’t expected that— but if Gozaburo considered his previous losses embarrassing enough, he might do something drastic.

Seto had contingencies for this, but he hoped he didn’t have to implement them yet.

“The political climate in Rome is reaching a tumultuous peak. I can’t afford to have both myself and my heir at the front lines.”

It was a reasonable justification. Gozaburo was openly invested in his legacy and Seto was hardly a necessity on the field if the General himself was leading the war.

It was also total bullshit, of course.

With the kind of instinct that called for a charge in the chaos of battle or recognized the feint in an enemy’s trap, Seto knew this had something to do with that missing “nothing of interest” he wasn’t supposed to know about.

But _why?_

He could ask, but Seto wouldn’t receive any answer worth the breath that carried it. At the worst, Gozaburo would follow up on his threats to send him far away. Seto had his own reasons for going to Alexandria. He wasn’t going to argue; Gozaburo was offering exactly what he wanted.

“I leave tomorrow. Father.”

Of course, that Gozaburo would offer, Seto thought, was reason enough to be very, very concerned.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was brilliant twilight when Seto finished his oh-so-touching meeting with the General. He stalked out into the softening light, intent on nothing but reaching his tent unassailed.

So, naturally, someone chose then to speak to him.

“You know, for a man walking away from a talk with his beloved father, you don’t look very happy.”

Seto’s desired response to this was violent and bloody. Instead, he said, “If you think ‘Gozaburo’ and ‘beloved’ belong in the same vocabulary, you’re even stupider than you look, Devlin.” He turned to look at the man now walking beside him.

Rather than offended, the lieutenant seemed thoughtful.

“Did he say anything else about strangeness in the battle today?”

“No, we talked about my future and our favorite pattern of dish ware; if you have something to say, Devlin, spit it out.”

“I was thinking about what the commanders said, asking about weird things.” He glanced into the deepening shadows almost nervously, then met Seto’s eyes. “Look, bullshit aside, today’s battle did seem a bit too… easy.”

Seto added a few points to his estimate of Devlin’s intelligence.

“I mean, usually I agree with Schroeder that you are an arrogant bastard who needs to be taken down a few pegs—” Seto retracted the points, “—but you’re good. General or no General, that battle, against an opponent that talented, should have gone differently.”

Seto considered the other man carefully. Gozaburo was sending him away, perhaps for noticing something he shouldn’t. Another pair of eyes would be useful. That is, if Devlin could be trusted not to go running to the big man himself.

“And why are you saying this to me and not to the General?”

Devlin stiffened. He looked at Seto sharply. “It would be inappropriate to approach the General with such unsubstantiated fancies,” he said, suddenly smooth and formal. “I would not dare distract him with idle gossip.”

Seto read past the polite rambling and snorted. “Yeah, he’s a bastard.”

Devlin blinked, losing his stiff propriety, then looked annoyed. He did relax, though.

“Yeah, I asked,” Seto finally said. “It’s not a figment in our minds; something’s up.” He gave Devlin a look for emphasis. “I suggest that you don’t ‘distract’ the General with this, however. He didn’t tell me anything, and suddenly my new orders are to go back to Alexandria and wait.”

Devlin frowned, looking both unsettled and calculating. “I see.”

Seto turned away with a negligent wave. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Kaiba,” Devlin said, just as Seto began to walk away. “For what it’s worth, you don’t seem much like him.” Seto paused, glancing back. Devlin quirked what could have been a smile. “That’s the why.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

No one else approached Seto on his way back, to his unspeakable relief and everyone else’s wellbeing. When he walked into the sanctuary of his tent, however, he found a person sitting on his bed.

This was an unusual event by itself, so it was understandable that it took him a moment to catch the finer details. Like the fact that there was a boy _tied up_ and _gagged_ on his bed.

Seto could feel a headache finally make its appearance.

The boy, who had been struggling viciously against his bonds, spotted him and froze, staring back with wide crimson eyes.

The Roman commander spun on his heel and walked back out of his tent.

He cornered the nearest servant. He looked vaguely familiar, so Seto assumed he probably worked for him. “Care to tell me why the fuck there is a person tied up in my tent?”

The servant paled, eyes rolling like a frightened horse. “It was- Lord Schroeder thought milord would appreciate some- some companionship.”

“And you _let him into my tent?_ ”

“I—” The man seemed to have stalled of horror.

With a disgusted sound, Seto whirled around and marched into his tent. He bypassed the still struggling figure on his bed, going straight for his personal effects. A few minutes’ search concluded nothing was missing, but he had gained the addition of a letter.

> ‘To the most Diligent and Repressed Commander Kaiba,  
>  My condolences for your loss, but a partner in one’s repose can cure any number of life’s disappointments. I know you are a very busy man, however, so I thought I’d save you the trouble of chasing one down. Do try to have a _little_ fun.’

Judging by the ugly lump on one side of the boy’s head and the sheer amount of dirt on his person, ‘chasing down’ might not have been a euphemism.

Seto had an incredibly disturbed moment as he considered the idea that Schroeder might actually think a trussed up bedmate was a good gift.

He then dismissed the thought for the foolishness it was. Outrageous and outright idiotic as Schroeder could be, he was, in the end, a creature of cunning.

Far from a kindness, the ‘gift’ was an insult and and inconvenience neatly dressed up- implying that he could not find himself a partner, and leaving him with one he had no use for. And due to the nature of the insult, Seto could not confront him over it, because otherwise he would never hear the end of the mockery.

Buckling down on his irritation, he sighed and considered his options. Unlike most of his peers, he never had any taste for the spoils of war. The easiest thing to do would simply be to send the boy back. Either Schroeder would take the slave for his own, or he’d be put back with the others and sent to trade at the ports.

He took a moment to actually look at the boy. A slave, unsurprisingly, evidenced by the ugly metal collar. The slave was filthy- another slight by Schroeder- streaked in sand and dust. His hair could have been any shade between black and light brown, his skin bore a dark tone irregularly obscured through the mess of dirt and scrapes. The effect was rather pitiful.

The boy’s eyes, however, still that remarkable red he’d first noticed, glared defiance through a glaze of pain and exhaustion. It was a grim, desperate ferocity Seto recognized deep in his gut.

His hands clenched, and then Seto sighed. _I am such a fool_. With a knife from his belt and a quelling look, he reached for the ropes.

Testing the first rope twisted over a slender wrist, Seto realized the ‘boy’ was older than he’d thought. Beneath the dirt, rope abrasions and mottling of bruises, the slim limbs were corded with wiry muscle that spoke of mature strength.

He’d thought Schroeder had sent him some soft child stolen from a nearby village. Instead, it looked like he’d gotten a warrior, plucked fresh from the battlefield. Seto wondered if this was a very ill-advised and clumsy assassination attempt, or if Schroeder was just that stupid.

Probably stupid.

He finished cutting way the ropes and stepped back, keeping a sharp eye on the young man in case the temptation of freedom overcame his sense. The captive Egyptian scrambled backward the moment he was loose, placing the bed between them. Tearing the gag away himself with motions of acute revulsion, the boy crouched, tense, and eyed him warily. His gaze darted from Seto’s face to the exit to, interestingly, the sword at Seto’s waist.

“Forget it,” Seto told him. “We’re in the heart of camp. Even if you managed by some miracle to kill me and make it out of the tent, you’d die before you made it ten meters. And calm down,” he snapped as the youth twitched away again. “I’m not going to touch you.”

The Egyptian youth didn’t exactly look like he believed him, but he also didn’t look like he expected Seto to grow fangs at any moment anymore.

A voice at the entryway interrupted Seto before he could say anything else. “My lord Kaiba? I’ve returned.”

Seto felt himself relax minutely. “Come in, Roland.”

A tall, dark-haired centurion stepped inside with a perfunctory bow, the lamplight shining on the red, brass and silver of his armor. He paused, spotting the bedraggled figure by the bed, and raised an eyebrow. “Is this a bad time?”

Seto snorted dismissively, “Just another one of Schroeder’s pathetic games.” Gesturing Roland to a chair, Seto began methodically to strip his armor off. “What have you discovered?”

“I asked about the camps of all the Legions. The 3rd seems to have been the closest to the area when the Egyptian lines collapsed, though the 8th and 12th were both had some proximity.” He shook is head. “No one saw anything. Many noticed the Egyptians seemed frightened, panicked even, but could not say why.” Roland paused. “A few form the 3rd front lines claimed the Egyptians were trying to escape from something behind them.”

Seto scowled, frustrated, and began chucking his armor into its chest. “That matches the positions of some of the bodies in the field- but that’s impossible. I scoured that whole area. There were no enemy bodies, no foot prints, no debris from ranged attacks.” He finished and sat back with a disgusted sound. “Did the entire Egyptian army have a mass hallucination?”

“Perhaps some of their forces turned on each other?” Roland queried, leaning forward in his chair.

“I’ve considered that, but it doesn’t quite fit. It’s difficult to make an army fight itself; bonds of brotherhood and all that. Count into the fact that cohesion was their only means of survival, and you’d need a thousand or so treacherous and suicidal snakes. Unlikely.” He hesitated, then added, “Also, though betrayal is confusing and morale-breaking, it doesn’t explain the panic. We’ve fought the Egyptians before and they’ve shown themselves to be disciplined warriors.”

A few servants entered to supply wine and light the brasier at the center of the tent. They withdrew quickly, one servant staying behind to keep their cups full.

“Does the General or the other commanders have any explanation?”

“No, they’re too busy trying not to look like their looking for something.” At Roland’s baffled look, Seto explained, “The last stand in the minor valley implies the Egyptians were protecting something, maybe some kind of treasure. Clearly, Gozaburo and the Big Five are looking for it- they even asked me if I’d found it.” Seto snorted. “The world is full of fools, and here I am surrounded by the worst of them. Gods!” he snarled emphatically. The servant, who had been pouring him a cup of wine, jerked and sloshed the jug directly onto Seto’s clothes.

“My apologies, milord!” the man squeaked, hurrying to sop up the spill. It didn’t do much good, the man barely able to grasp the cloth.  
Seto eyed the man’s pale face and shaking hands, then sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Forget it, just get out of here.” The servant didn’t even hesitate, setting down the wine with a hasty bow and bolting.

Roland watched him go with restrained amusement. “Gone through another valet, then? How long did this one last, two weeks?” He sighed. “You will never get a good servant if you keep scaring them off.”

“They aren’t a good servant if I can scare them off,” Seto muttered, peeling off his sweat- and now wine-soaked tunic.

“I guess we’re pouring our own wine tonight,” Roland smirked, standing to retrieve the wine jug from the table.

“Hn.” Seto eyed the distance between the chairs and brasier and the wine tray with distaste. Movement distracted his attention and he realized it was the slave, right where he’d forgotten him. He’d sat down and curled up, likely beginning to feel the coolness of the desert night, but his eyes were still watchful behind the weariness. “You, slave.” Roland twitched, clearly having forgotten the youth was still there.

The slave looked at him, but didn’t move or reply.

Seto shook his empty mug. “Do you pour wine? Or is that beyond your capabilities?”

The slave’s eyes sharpened into a fierce glare, but his gaze slid to the warm brasier the expression cleared. Standing smoothly, the Egyptian youth walked over to the table and picked up the jug.

Seto quirked an eyebrow at the brasier, wondering if he was about to end up with another lap full of wine or a face full of hot coals, but the youth merely filled his mug and moved on to Roland’s. When he finished, he replaced the jug and sat down.

Right next to the brasier.

Amused in spite of himself, Seto shook his head and returned to his conversation.

The Egyptian youth did, in fact, refill their cups through the night. He didn’t do it like the servants did, neatly and unobtrusively, fading in and out like a ghost. He poured with a grace and dignity, like every round was a favor granted. When the other servants brought trays of food, Seto pretended not to notice as the slave stole bits of food. He had, after all, neglected to order food for him, and neither Roland nor he had much appetite.

When he finally lifted an empty cup to his lips, it was with surprise. He trailed off in his sentence, turning to see the slave curled up around a cushion in the brasier’s warmth. Sleep and firelight softened the dirt and injuries, hiding away the harsh marks the world had placed on him, shading the collar to simple shadow. He looked young.

“Perhaps it is time I turned in.” Seto turned back to find Roland watching him. The centurion glanced at the boy and back to him, a question in his eyes.

Seto ignored the look and stood. “You’re right. It’s late, and tomorrow we start a long road. We before by noon; be sure you’ve tied all your ends by then.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Roland said patiently.

Exasperated, Seto shook his head. “Fine, you know what to do, get out of here.”

The centurion still paused at the doorway, casting a look back at the brasier. “If you’d like me to move the boy elsewhere…?”

Seto had already turned away, shrugging into his sleeping robe. He paused, staring into the polished bronze of his mirror, and thought of fierce eyes and the softening of another face in sleep and firelight. “No, it’s fine.” When the man still didn’t move, Seto rolled his eyes and said, “Go on. I can take care of myself.” That, finally, did the trick.

Recklessness was certainly a part of Seto’s character, but willful stupidity was not. The slave had been exhausted and would likely sleep the night through. In case he didn’t, however, Seto locked all obvious weapons in his armor chest. His sword and dagger went to bed with him, as was his habit; if the boy managed to sneak those away without waking Seto, he deserved whatever retribution he sought.

Preparations finished, Seto settled down to sleep.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Seto woke to the crisp air of a desert sunrise on his face.

It took him a bare moment to remember that he had gone to sleep in his tent with the flaps drawn and that was distinctly Not Right.

He sat up suddenly with his dagger drawn, eyes already searching for possible threats.

His tent was exactly as he’d left it last night. The Egyptian youth sat in the open entryway, fingering his collar and staring out over the camp. He glanced over at the commander's sudden motion, but seemed uninterested.

The fact that the slave was still present and that Seto wasn’t bleeding anywhere was mollifying, but he still felt uncomfortably like something was not as it should be. On an impulse, Seto walked over to his armor chest.

It was unlocked.

Seto opened it fully and searched inside, but everything was where he’d left it. He knew, however, without a doubt he had locked it before going to bed. He looked over to see the slave watching him. 

Feeling like someone had just pushed him into a river, Seto looked back at the chest. "You picked the lock."

The youth gave a small hint of a smile, then turned back to watching the sky.

_Trust is a way to earn a knife in the ribs, boy._

Yet the young slave hadn't done anything, not even taken the smallest knife. A warning, perhaps? Seto dressed himself in silence. He tossed back a sharp, "Stay here," and went outside.

The preparations for departure were already well underway, likely having started around dawn. Seto snagged the attention of Adrianna, who’s position, as far as he could tell, was chief minder of his servants and staff. “There’s a young slave in my tent. I want him washed, changed and fed.”

“A new slave,” she said sharply. “I wasn’t told about this. We’ll have to find room. Wardrobe, too, from the quartermaster. And food- another mouth! Fortunately, you broke Clement, that useless sack of…”

As the woman wander off to handle matters, Seto left to finish his own business, happy that at least one of his concerns now belonged to someone else.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The hours until the zenith of the sun had been trickling by, and Seto was well ready to be done as the quartermaster expounded the final summary.

“-And there’s still the matter of where you want to put the boy.”

Seto refocused. “The boy?”

“The new slave. His position is the household is, as yet, unspecified, so we are unsure where to put him in the procession.” Seto turned to follow the man’s gaze.

In Seto’s mind, he recalled a brown and feral creature, wild and unkempt like an stray on the roadside. Having sent him away to be cleaned and clothed, of course, he knew that was not what would return. He’d expected to be treated to a rough-spun commoner’s child, cowed and sullen.

Seto stared.

The slave stood with the ox-drivers, helping to load boxes into a wagon with a strength belied by his slight form.

And he was beautiful.

The thought shocked Seto as much as the boy’s-no, _young man’s_ appearance. It was not merely his features, though they were fine and well-defined enough to actually merit appreciation even with the bruise discoloring his left cheek and temple. There was a brilliance about him, like a portrait painted richer and brighter than life. His eyes were ruby, his skin bronze, and his hair, though dark, was streaked with hints of color, reds and blondes that glowed in the sunlight.

But most remarkable was the way he stood like he could weather the fall of kingdoms unflinching.

As though sensing his attention, the crimson eyes glanced up to meet his, bold and unyielding, before returning to the task at hand. He thought of locks, and cautionary tales at dawn.

He was… intriguing.

Seto approached the wagon. The object of his focus was kneeling away, reordering the contents of a box. “You, there,” he called out. “Slave.”

In strange contradiction to the moment before, the youth did not stand or look up to acknowledge he’d noticed the Roman commander.

The quartermaster strolled over and grabbed him by the neck, hauling him up to his feet. “He’s been a hard worker, my lord, but he does not speak nor answer to any tongue but his own,” the man apologized.

“Really,” Seto murmured, eyes narrowing at the averted face of the Egyptian. He mentally reviewed the previous night, searching for any clue that— then blinked in realization. A slow, smug smile slid over his lips, “Clever. Underestimation is a useful tool, but you shouldn't play the same move twice. I learn my lessons quickly.”

The quartermaster turned to him, baffled. “My lord?”

Bronzed shoulders tensed, then relaxed. Like a warrior ceding a duel, the youth inclined his head, meeting his gaze. “It was worth a try.”

They both ignored the quartermaster’s shocked exclamation.

“Many masters would have you flogged for a ruse like that,” Seto pointed out.

“Many would not be bothered to notice,” the Egyptian returned. The youth’s voice was rich and startlingly deep, flowing smoothly through the Latin with accented familiarity. “And even of those who would, it is, as you say, an benefit that outweighs the cost.” With a deferent nod, he added, "You, however, do not seem to be one of many."

“Huh,” Seto tilted his head, considering. “What’s your name, slave?”

There was a moment, surprise or hesitation, before the youth supplied, “I am called Yami.”

“Yami,” Seto repeated thoughtfully, then turned away. “Come on, then,” he called back, moving for the front of the column. “You’re riding with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Terminology:  
> tesserae: Latin name for dice.  
> posca: a common drink for the legionaries. It was made by mixing wine with vinegar and herbs.  
> legionary (pl. legionaries): The general term for an infantryman in the Roman Legion  
> centurion: the name for the professional officer of the Roman Legion. Most of them are responsible for the command of around 80 men.
> 
> A Note on Names: Yeah, most of the characters’ names don’t match the time period. I debated trying to tweak the so they did, but there really is no way to do it gracefully (I checked, really.) In most cases, I’ll be using the English variation of character names. Please forgive me the anachronism.
> 
> History: This story is by no means meant to replace actual historical events, so it’s exact placement in the timeline is a little vague. I’m placing cultural setting around the time of Julius Caesar and Marc Antony, when Egypt and Rome had a good deal of interaction.  
> Again, totally no reflection of actual sociopolitical dynamics or events.
> 
> Legions: The number and size of legions varied throughout the history of Rome- generals would form and combine new ones depending on will and necessity. In general, though, there ranged somewhere between 25 to 35 standing legions. Each legion consisted of up to 5,400 men, mostly heavy infantry called legionaries.  
> The hierarchy and organization of the Legions have a magnificent practical and political arrangement that I could write an essay to explain let alone try to apply- so instead, I am ignoring most of the correct terms for positions unless I think it will help with the story.


End file.
